Hollow
by Appointment
Summary: A hollow is formed when a soul loses their heart to despair, regret, or insanity. – a tale of the espada, in their human lives. a collection of drabbles/one-shots.
1. Greed

novena. _greed_.

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His home was dark, barely lit by melting candles by which the wind threatened to extinguish. It was a large, extravagant home – filled with impractical, profligate and pretty objects. His affluence put on display, sitting upon a red velvet cushion. The man sat in on a grandiose chaise longue, watching as his Rottweiler snoozed slothfully at the front door, though asleep, a threat to those who wished to take from him. He looked down to his wife, lying in his arms, drunk by the hand of wine. She was a woman of beauty – tall, slim with delicate features. He fantasised of her smile, though it was not directed at him. It was, earlier that day, directed at some uninteresting beggar, dressed in a tweed suit with dark hair. He too, had noticed her good looks, and she had been well aware of it. Aaroniero thought deeply to himself, of the way she leant into the man, sloppily letting her skirt hike up ever so slightly without indignity. She tossed her thick, chocolate hair over her shoulder, giving the man just enough skin to gawk at.

The thought made his stomach turn. He gripped her more tightly in his arms, his heart beating fast. He inhaled her rich, sweet scent, feeling her warmth against his chest. Suddenly, the dog at the door began to stir. He thought to let the animal outside, standing abruptly. The woman's body fell limply to the floor, with the grace of a sack of garbage. Red stained his white button down, which clung to his skin. He whipped his hand clean, warm blood flicking from his fingers.

Oh, he loved her so. She would always be his.


	2. Madness

octava. _madness_.

* * *

The man stood, dressed in a long white doctor's coat, which quarrelled brazenly with the dusty surroundings. He slipped on a pair of plastic surgical gloves, tittering quietly to himself at the theatrical manner in which he had done so. He snapped the glove once more, before looking down at the trembling girl below him. Her complexion was swathed in purple bruises and lesions, though artfully covered by face powder. Her big, violet eyes looked up at him, filled with tears. Her nose bled and ran into her mouth.

"No, please," she wept, "It hurts, it hurts."

He knelt down next to her, looking almost compassionate.

"Oh, I wish you wouldn't cry," he said melodiously, "You're going to ruin your makeup."

He took his thumb and lifted it to the girls face, causing her to flinch. He wiped some of her runny kohl from under her eye before standing back up and regaining his superior position. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a long medical syringe. The girl began to thrash riotously, though to no avail, as she was cuffed to the wall.

"No, no, no!" she bawled. "Please, no. I'll do anything you want. Anything!"

"If you don't settle down, you're going to start knotting up your hair yet again. I won't brush it for you again, you know."

He bent down to her level, looking dead center into her teary eyes. She shuddered, looking away from his abnormally gilt irises.

"Please, no! Not again!" she screeched.

"Don't worry, my dear. This will be the last time."

She stared at him in horror, fleetingly, before the light absconded from her eyes. Szayelapporo smiled somewhat woefully, as if he were saying goodbye to a child. As he began to loosen her bonds and prepare for '_examination'_, a figure appeared in the dark behind him.

"I wish you would avoid taking your playthings home from the workplace, Szayel."

Yylfordt leant against the stone archway.

"One day, someone's going to start wondering why all of your patients are vanishing."

Szayelapporo glowered at his older brother.

"Keep to yourself, Yylfordt. Stay out of my business and I'll stay out of yours." he retorted, throwing the girl's wilting body over his shoulder and brushing past his brother, out of the room.


	3. Intoxication

thanks for the reviews! more chapters coming soon.

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septima. _intoxication._

* * *

He watched her carefully.

Her tender lips moving softly, quietly speaking into the receiver of the phone. She hurried down the sidewalk. Her long, russet hair falling down her shoulders, translucent wisps of condensation floating out of her mouth with every word. Her lips curved into a smile as she was consumed by conversation, her pace slowing.

Zommari smiled; he loved it when she did that. It was almost as if his vision went fuzzy when he stared at her for too long, like the glare of the sun. He knew how she hated to be compared to something so beautiful and nurturing, but he would never deny it.

Then, came those three words: "I love you."

He wavered, the dizzying sound of her voice uttering those words. He was sure they were meant for him. Of course, they were, and even though she spoke them to _him_, the man on the other line, they were for Zommari, and him alone.

The fragrance of her shampoo was carried by the cool wind, blowing into his face. He let his mind spin. He was high on her scent.

"I love you, too," he whispered. Suddenly, the woman stopped, dead in her tracks. She turned around. She had heard him.

After some disinclination, she continued to walk rapidly down the sidewalk. He almost chuckled. He knew her better than she knew herself. He followed after her, silent and hidden in the cloak of darkness.

"I should be home soon," her delicate voice spoke, sounding nervous. He followed her further, until he noticed she'd walked past the very place she had been going. Abruptly, once more, she stopped in the middle of the walkway, this time under the sallow light of a streetlamp. Her shadow drew out underneath her feet. She looked around, spinning in a circle. She waited a moment, breathing audibly. He heard noise come from the phone's speaker. "Yeah, I'm still here."

After a moment, she turned in the direction of her home, resuming the familiar path back down to her home. In the darkness, footsteps followed, not far behind.


End file.
